


Each Moment, Becoming Eternity

by chrokun (ChiaRoseKuro)



Category: Bleach, Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Awkward First Times, Crossover, Disabled Character, Hand Jobs, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, Hyuuga Neji Lives, Hyuuga Neji and Kuchiki Byakuya are Brothers, Japanese Honorifics, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Samurai, Self-Esteem Issues, Strangers to Lovers, Touching, request fic, some canon relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22614034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiaRoseKuro/pseuds/chrokun
Summary: But even now, in one of the many caravans trundling back to Konoha from the battlegrounds, it’s hard to brush off the mysterious smile on Kuchiki-san’s face. It hadn’t felt like a lie, not in the sense that his older brother or any of the other Iron Country samurai wished ill will on Konoha, but—it hadn’t felt like the real reason.Except what would an Iron Country samurai—anestrangedrelative, older brother though he is, who’d never once visited Konoha before—want with a Fire Country shinobi?What would he want from a branch family Hyuuga who is, effectively speaking, acripple?Hyuuga Neji does not die in the Fourth Shinobi World War—but he may as well be dead anyway. After all, what’s a Hyuuga prodigy without the Byakugan, or a jounin without chakra?But there’s more than one way to be strong in the new world Neji wakes to… and maybe, just maybe, he can learn a thing or two from his estranged older brother and his very interesting retainer.
Relationships: Abarai Renji & Kuchiki Byakuya, Gai-han | Team Guy & Maito Gai | Might Guy, Hyuuga Neji & Kuchiki Byakuya, Hyuuga Neji/Abarai Renji
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	Each Moment, Becoming Eternity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sanlian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanlian/gifts).



> This was Sabon's request for a story about Abarai Renji and Hyuuga Neji awkwardly coming out and wanting to touch each other, including a sideplot involving Kuchiki Byakuya as Neji's big brother, Neji interacting with Team Guy, and appearances by Hatake Kakashi and Hyuuga Hiashi. The genres requested were fluff/romance and angst/tragedy... so I chose to go with fairly heavy angst with a happy ending, because angst.
> 
> So if you're not into near-death experiences, mild depression and self-esteem issues, one instance of potential ableism, what might constitute an underage homosexual relationship and potentially far-fetched attempts at merging the Seireitei into Iron Country, then it may be in your best interest to press the 'back' button. Any rude comments will be summarily ignored, because I wrote this for Sabon's enjoyment and I'm hardly going to ruin her request with negativity, so.
> 
> Special thanks to BTS' _Black Swan_ for titling the story and providing theme music in the month it took for me to complete this, the lovely people on [Kat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat)'s server for helping me out with Naruto geography (though it mostly involved a map with no label for Iron Country and a fair amount of screaming about Kishimoto's slipshod canon), and Sabon for happily accepting this monster of a oneshot.
> 
> And just for clarification - the country names will be in English (Iron, Fire) while the cities will be in Japanese (Tetsu, Konoha). Byakuya is in his early thirties, Renji is in his early to mid-twenties and Neji is eighteen at the start of the story.

* * *

Of all the things Neji had expected when he’d taken a blow for Naruto and thanked him with his dying breath, waking up to the inside of a tent was _not_ one of them. He’d been prepared to pass on to the Pure Land—reunite with his father and lost older brother, perhaps, and watch over Hinata-sama until she came to join them—but there is a very strange man hovering above him, and the stench of copper is too strong for this to be the Pure Land. Everything _hurts_ too much for this to be the afterlife, and…

 _The war,_ is the first coherent thought to flit through Neji’s mind, followed by _how is Hinata-sama?_ He flexes his fingers, trying to lay his palms flat on whatever he’s lying on so he can push himself upright, but then there’s a pale hand on his chest and a new face hovering above his.

“It would be folly to move, Hyuuga Neji-san,” the man says, grey eyes calm and assessing. There’s not a trace of pity or concern to be found in his gaze… but the hand is gentle, gentler than it should be from a stranger, and Neji’s brow furrows even as the man adds, “The effort Kurotsuchi-san would go to waste if you were to expire now.”

“Who?” Neji rasps. “What… where am—”

“All will be answered in good time,” the man replies, “but you must rest, so that you may live still.”

 _But I should be dead,_ Neji wants to say. He can’t feel his Byakugan, can’t even feel so much as a spark of chakra inside himself—but the man shifts his hand to cover his eyes, and he loses consciousness between one breath and the next.  
  


* * *

  
It takes two days for Neji to recover enough to sit up and at least a week until he can stand without assistance. It’s… galling, even though he’s recovering from death, to realize that he’s this _weak_.

To know that, in the time it took for him to even gain basic mobility, most of those still alive in the Elemental Countries had salvaged whatever had remained of their comrades and began heading home.

The strange man—Mayuri Kurotsuchi, an Iron Country scientist who’d somehow _brought him back to life_ —tells him that he’ll regain his chakra, eventually. “I wouldn’t hold my breath for that curious bloodline ability of yours to return, though,” he adds with a flippant wave of his hand. “The retrieval of your soul had been but a small matter, but your Byakugan? It may as well have never existed.

“Now leave,” Mayuri-san says, as though he hasn’t destroyed Neji with seven simple words. “You’re no longer an interesting test subject to me, so go on—I have corpses to examine, and you’re taking up that bed.”

 _I’m worse than a corpse—that’s nice to know_. Neji swallows down the vitriol though, offers a smile he doesn’t feel for a man who doesn’t care for it, and hobbles his way outside. His team has returned to Konoha along with the rest of the Fire Country shinobi, doubtless to do whatever’s needed to clean up after the Infinite Tsukuyomi he’s heard about in snatches, and it’s… hard, not to resent the fact that he’s been left here.

That he’s been entrusted to a man who claims to be his lost older brother—the black-haired, grey-eyed man who’d been with Kurotsuchi-san when he’d woken first, who introduces himself as Kuchiki Byakuya and not a Hyuuga—and an unfamiliar, _heavily_ tattooed man.

It’s hard not to resent _them_ , too, even though none of this is their fault—because he might get his chakra back someday, but he doesn’t know _when_. His older brother and the tattooed man—Abarai Renji, someone that seems to be a cross between a retainer and a friend to Kuchiki-san—don’t rely on chakra, not in the same way ninja do, so they don’t really understand his pain.

“We’re samurai,” Kuchiki-san had told Neji, one of the first things he’d shared after his and Abarai-san’s name. “Our country was mostly unaffected by your war, so we were sent as envoys to assist Konoha if need be.”

“But why?” Neji had asked. It wasn’t as though Iron Country meddled much with the Elemental Countries beyond hosting a few summits, and Konoha was too far away for Tetsu to really worry about the backlash from an invasion or Fire Country war.

“Call it a gesture of goodwill,” Kuchiki-san had replied…

But even now, in one of the many caravans trundling back to Konoha from the battlegrounds, it’s hard to brush off the mysterious smile on Kuchiki-san’s face. It hadn’t felt like a lie, not in the sense that his older brother or any of the other Iron Country samurai wished ill will on Konoha, but—it hadn’t felt like the real reason.

Except what would an Iron Country samurai—an _estranged_ relative, older brother though he is, who’d never once visited Konoha before—want with a Fire Country shinobi?

What would he want from a branch family Hyuuga who is, effectively speaking, a _cripple?_

It’s not something that ever gets cleared up in the week it takes to get back to Konoha, no matter how much Neji talks with his older brother and his retainer-slash-friend. _Or maybe they’re more than friends,_ he finds himself thinking, noting their closeness whenever he saw them together.

 _Maybe,_ he finds himself thinking one night, with Kuchiki-san’s and Abarai-san’s voices low and soft in the night, _they came to Konoha so they could be together._

Samurai were probably traditional like that—and so were civilians too, as far as Neji knew, but only the oldest shinobi families advocated heteronormativity nowadays. With the constant danger that plagued shinobi lives and the medical advances spearheaded by the likes of Tsunade-sama, issues of love and childbearing had long lost significance in the common ninja’s partner choices…

But even as Neji rationalizes it, even as he tells himself that his older brother is entitled to do what he likes, he still finds his gaze trailing discontentedly after Kuchiki-san and Abarai-san.

It’s not because of the effortless katas Abarai-san does every morning and evening, sweat glistening in the dim light and hints of black ink stark on his skin. It’s not because of his intensity and strength of will—like Naruto, but tempered to a thin and heavy blade he wields effortlessly and with a brilliant gaze.

Neji is no longer the prodigy of the branch family, no longer of any use beyond cannon fodder and a living tome of Hyuuga knowledge, but… for the heritage he can no longer claim, for the honour he still cannot let go of, he will not fall so low as to covet Abarai-san. He _cannot_ , he _will not_.

(for a time, it almost works)  
  


* * *

  
“My most youthful student!” a loud voice hollers distantly. “It is wonderful to see you recovered, and with the springtime of youth flowing so strongly in you still!”

It’s been three days since Neji’s return to Konoha—three days since Hiashi-sama, with sorrow and regret in his eyes, told him of the Hyuuga elders’ decree. Neji had understood their decision to relocate him to the outermost quarters of the Hyuuga compound, where the oldest and weakest of their clan dwelled, but for all that he’d reassured Hiashi-sama that it wasn’t his fault…

“Gai-sensei,” Neji murmurs, bowing ever so slightly to the man as he rushes into view, and has to work to keep the resentment from his tone.

The two Iron Country samurai aren’t here with him—they’re in guest quarters on the compound, closer to the centre and thus treated better than Neji himself is—but that doesn’t stop Gai-sensei from looking around and asking, “Where are the men who brought you home? I must thank them for their generosity in watching over my beloved student!”

“And for safeguarding my most youthful rival!” Lee exclaims, popping out from behind Gai-sensei. Even as Tenten rounds the corner, fond exasperation evident in her smile and the crinkle of her eyes, Lee strikes his Nice Guy pose and adds, “Do not worry about your injuries, Neji! Even without your Byakugan— _urk!_ ”

“Lee, you can’t just _say_ things like that!” Tenten hisses, eyes darting between Lee and Neji, but the damage is already done.

He’d likely meant to say something encouraging—that Lee would still stay rivals with him, perhaps, or that Neji was still a prodigy and a proper Hyuuga in his eyes—but almost a fortnight has passed, and he _still_ can’t get used his missing Byakugan. His irises had never changed back… but even the blind in his clan have lavender-white eyes.

There are Hyuuga who never manifest it and live their lives without the enhanced vision. Neji isn’t one of them, though, and he feels that lack with every breath he takes.

So for all that Tenten berates Lee for his clumsy words, for all that Gai-sensei strides over to offer whatever comfort he can—

“Thank you for visiting me,” Neji forces out, “but I have matters to attend to. Gai-sensei, Lee, Tenten—I’ll see all of you later.”

Neji knows that he’s acting like a petulant child right now— _knows_ that the loss of his Byakugan and the trickle of chakra in his veins was all his own fault—but he can’t be with his team right now. Pretending that everything was fine, that he was the same talented genius that’d defied generations of Hyuuga tradition to be one of the best fighters… _I’ll never be like that again,_ Neji thinks bitterly to himself, and ignores his teams’ shouts as he flees deeper into the compound.

Because that’s exactly what it is: fleeing. As though he were still the pathetic, fate-bound three-year-old who’d been branded with the curse seal.

It’s a hateful thought, one that makes tears prickle at the corner of his eyes, but Neji’s only walked a few more steps before he runs straight into something. _Or someone,_ he amends internally, when he takes a wobbling step back and sees a firmly muscled chest—one that ripples with black ink at the very edges, sharp and all the more eye-catching for it.

“Hey, watch where you’re—uh.”

Neji tries to duck around Abarai-san, but it’s a lost cause—he may be shorter by at least half a foot, but Abarai-san is clearly accustomed to catching moving targets. He feels a hand clasp onto his shoulder, warm even through the kimono-shirt he’s wearing, and it’s hard not to flinch away from it. Probably for the best, then, that he only stills and keeps his face carefully turned away.

Judging from the way Abarai-san clicks his tongue and tugs on his shoulder again, though, he’s clearly having none of that. “I didn’t think we bumped into each other _that_ hard,” he mutters, twisting to look more closely at Neji’s face, and resentment brings a dull red flush to Neji’s cheeks.

“I’m _fine,_ ” he says a little more pointedly than he should, trying to shake Abarai-san’s hand off. “You weren’t the one at fault,” he adds a little stiffly, internally cursing as his flush refuses to fade. “I simply need some time to myself.”

“Bullshit.”

Neji blinks, instinctively looking at Abarai-san with an arched brow.

“Look,” Abarai-san sighs, removing his hand to scratch the back of his neck, “you and Captain Kuchiki might not have grown up together, but you share a lot of tells.

“That face you’re making?” Abarai-san asks, mouth twisted into something rueful. “That’s not good news, and like _hell_ I’m letting you run around like that so Captain Kuchiki can swoop on my ass and get all disappointed because I let you get _bullied_ or something.”

“Why would he care?” Neji gets startled into asking, for all that he wants to ask about Kuchiki-san’s title or protest at being _bullied_.

“Why wouldn’t he?” is Abarai-san’s easy answer. “Sure, he’s not _much_ of a big brother sort, but if he can mother the hell out of Rukia and come back for more…”

“Rukia?”

“It’s a long story,” Abarai-san says with a shrug, “but I’ll tell you over a snack, how about that? Heard the taiyaki’s good around here, so if you know where we can get some…”

It’s an obvious and transparent attempt to engage with him, one that any Hyuuga child would be ashamed to make when it’s so blatant—but Neji finds himself pursing his lips and nodding anyway. He tries to tell himself that he’s just being hospitable, that Abarai-san is only talking to him because of his relationship with Kuchiki-san and he shouldn’t think too much of it—

But there’s a warmth that refuses to fade on his shoulder, for all that Abarai-san’s hand is no longer there, and Neji’s all too conscious of the other’s presence as he silently leads him out of the compound.  
  


* * *

  
If someone had asked Neji for his opinion on Abarai-san’s personality, he would’ve said the other was gruff—dangerous in a way that his roughness only emphasized, with the muscles and aura to back up the threat. He would’ve probably pegged him as a short-tempered sort of thug and the sort of person that preferred picking fights to making friends—

But it’s hard to reconcile that mental image with the Abarai-san exclaiming over a simple taiyaki, eyes alight in happiness and satisfaction. “Oh _god,_ ” he’d just about moaned when he’d taken his first bite, “this is _so_ much better than anything back home.”

The image gap is… weirdly _cute_ , for all that Neji would’ve never thought of _cute_ and _Abarai-san_ in the same sentence. His _actions_ are rather gross, given how enthusiastically he’s cramming the taiyaki into his mouth, but Neji’s seen worse.

He’s _met_ Naruto and Kiba, after all.

They’re not at a stuffy, high-end store with delicate plates though—they’re parked beside a street stall, plates of taiyaki and takoyaki and dango piled beside and between them, and Neji’s content to nibble on his stick of dango while Abarai-san scarfs down what he can. He suspects they won’t get much talking done like this, but…

It’s nice, if incredibly strange. There’s no expectation to keep a stiff upper lip, because _anything_ he does will look dignified beside Abarai-san. There’s no elders murmuring about his lost potential, no branch family members staring at him with disapproving or _pitying_ gazes—his team aren’t here and neither are any of the so-called Rookie Twelve. He can sit here and people-watch, or eat, or politely hide his disbelief at Abarai-san’s ravenous appetite.

He can pretend that everything’s fine—and maybe that wasn’t Abarai-san’s intent, but it’s something he’s grateful for all the same.

And in between the people-watching and eating, they talk.

Kuchiki-san is married, Abarai-san says in between one bite of takoyaki and the next, his wife recently deceased and her younger sister his only living link to her. The younger sister is Abarai-san’s best friend and the reason why he’s a samurai—not everyone can be one, he adds around a mouthful of dango, but Kuchiki-san comes from a high-ranking family.

“I was just lucky I’d befriended the right street rat,” Abarai-san adds a little self-deprecatingly, leaning back and smiling up at the sky. “There wouldn’t have been much of me left to swing a sword around if Captain Kuchiki had come across us later.”

It puts his ravenous appetite and his rough nature into startling, depressing focus. Neji almost wonders if he’d rather have not known at all—that it would’ve been better, perhaps, to think him naturally uncouth and a little abrasive.

But he can’t regret it, really, not with the way Abarai-san speaks so warmly and easily to him. He might not care much for all the food in Abarai-san’s mouth, but Neji knows an attempt to be friendly when he sees one… and for all his tattoos and the sword openly hanging by his side, he still reminds Neji far more of Naruto than he might’ve otherwise thought possible.

It makes it that much easier to relax around him, allowing small smiles through that become quiet chuckles from time to time—and it’s nothing like his team, but it’s comfortable all the same.

“Don’t you miss home?” Neji finds himself asking at one point. “You have friends there, like Rukia-san,” he adds, when Abarai-san only arches a brow at him, “and I’m sure Kuchiki-san can fend for himself.”

This, oddly enough, gets him a light frown—but Neji doesn’t have long to ponder over it before Abarai-san’s saying, “Konoha’s a lot nicer than Tetsu. Sure, I have friends back home, but…

“It’s warm here, you know?” Abarai-san stretches out his legs languidly, uncaring that he’s probably obstructing the road a little, and turns to grin at Neji. “You don’t get much sun back home. And all this _life_ —Captain Kuchiki will probably head back within a month, but I think I might stay for a bit longer.”

“In the compound?”

“If they kick me out, I’m sure I could take some odd jobs and rent a place,” Abarai-san says with a light shrug. “You shinobi have your own skills, but samurai are pretty handy in a pinch too.”

An insane thought comes to mind, then, one that Neji might’ve dismissed even a few weeks ago… but with his eyesight dulled, with his chakra only a thin trickle in his veins, Neji asks, “How long does it take to master the sword?”

Abarai-san gives him a sharp look at that, but then…

“Pretty damn long,” he replies with a smile, bright and cutting all at once, “but I bet you’d pick it up fast, if you’re anything like what I’ve heard about Captain Kuchiki.”  
  


* * *

  
It doesn’t take long for the rumours to spread like wildfire across Konoha—that the former Hyuuga genius is being trained in kenjutsu beneath an Iron Country samurai, and that he might defect to Tetsu. It makes Neji’s blood boil every time he hears whispers of his name and _former_ status, like he’s no longer worthy now that he’s barely got enough chakra to do Academy-rank jutsus and no longer has his Byakugan, and the mere _thought_ that he’d defect makes him want to scoff—

But it’s hard to think of his resentment whenever he’s training with Abarai-san. They practice about as much as Neji did when he’d been a genin, from sunrise to sunset with a smattering of breaks in between, and it leaves him too tired to think of much beyond sleep and the katas Abarai-san drills into him.

Because Abarai-san is more ruthless than Neji had expected—almost _more_ ruthless, somehow, than even Gai-sensei and his love of surpassing human limits. He shows Neji katas until his mind spins, trains his endurance until his vision’s dancing with black spots, and _then_ makes him practice the katas until he can’t uncurl his fingers from the stick of wood acting as his practice sword. He’s not shy with his chastisement either, and has a suspicious fondness for using his foot to kick Neji up the backside.

It would be all too easy to brush him off as an incompetent teacher, more of a slave driver than anyone who’d impart anything useful to him—but Abarai-san’s generous with his praise, too. He adjusts Neji’s stances firmly but not harshly, encourages him to push past his boundaries even when he thinks he can’t move any longer, and his smiles…

Perhaps this is what Hinata saw in Naruto, when they were younger and she had spoken of nobody other than the loud-mouthed prankster. Perhaps he had smiled at her like Abarai-san smiles at him, once upon a time—and if Naruto had, then Neji can’t really blame Hinata for her infatuation.

Abarai-san isn’t training him today, which is probably for the best. He’s with Kuchiki-san instead, warming up under his careful watch—but for all that Kuchiki-san is more competent with the sword and has a claim on Neji that Abarai-san doesn’t, it’s not as comforting.

It feels a little like training under Hiashi-sama, with his sparse praise and ever-critical gaze, and…

“Hyuuga-san,” Kuchiki-san says then, almost startling Neji out of his stance, and walks over to touch the back of his hand before adding, “you’re overextending on your strikes again.”

Kuchiki-san’s fingers are cool and a little rough, smoother than Neji would expect from a master of the sword, but his touches are almost clinical—nothing like Abarai-san’s at all. Abarai-san’s touches are far warmer, for all that they’re usually firm and all too fleeting, so it should be logical that Neji prefers Abarai-san to Kuchiki-san. He’s spent more time around Abarai-san, for all that he and Kuchiki-san are blood related.

But instead of stepping back to resume his observation of his katas, Kuchiki-san looks at Neji and says, “You could be a great samurai, if you choose to return to Iron Country with me.”

Neji stares at him, because what else can he do? He’s a shinobi of Konoha, a man that could’ve been the Hyuuga clan head if he’d been of the main house, and the very _thought_ of renouncing Fire Country on an estranged older brother’s promise is… ludicrous. _Unfathomable_ , even, but—

“Why?” Neji finds himself blurting out, straightening up from his stance to look at Kuchiki-san. “I was born to the Hyuuga clan. I’m a loyal Konoha shinobi—”

“Loyalties and traditions can change,” Kuchiki-san says simply, “and though I am not of the Kuchiki blood, I am still its 28th clan head.

“You’d be treated well, if you came back with me,” Kuchiki-san tells him, grey eyes cool and assessing, “and Rukia-san would enjoy having you around, for all that she’s a few years older than you.”

“But won’t she want to spend more time with Kuchiki-san, rather than a complete stranger?”

“I believe,” Kuchiki-san says in a strangely gentle tone, “that she would prefer your company over mine.”

He smiles a little sadly and it hits Neji, then, that he’s not doing this for his own selfish reasons. Kuchiki-san really believes that he’d be better off in Iron Country, surrounded by samurai who won’t know much about his shinobi heritage—who’d only see him as Kuchiki-san’s younger brother and, perhaps, respect him more than the Hyuuga clan ever will again. He’ll be with strangers who’ll like him all the same, with Kuchiki-san’s sister and Abarai-san, and—

_Abarai-san._

“Will Abarai-san return with you?” Neji asks as casually as he can.

Kuchiki-san looks at him, gaze searching for something Neji can’t think of—but whatever he sees evidently satisfies him, because a warmer smile graces his face this time. “I believe he might, if he heard you were coming with us,” he says, tucking his hands into his haori sleeves, “but why don’t you ask him? After all, Renji-san would know his own mind best.”

Neji finds himself flushing at the implication in Kuchiki-san’s words, but his older brother stares at him—and then, in a completely unprecedented move, leans over to rest a hand on Neji’s head. “Renji-san is a good man,” he says softly, “and Rukia-san’s best friend. He’s good with the sword and one of the best retainers I could ever ask for…

“But I’ve seen him here, with you,” he adds, drawing his hand back and tucking it back into his sleeve, “and Konoha is… good for him. I don’t expect you to make your decision right this moment, Hyuuga-san, but you should make the best decision for yourself.”

Tears prick at the corner of Neji’s eyes, but all he does is bow formally to Kuchiki-san and whisper, “Thank you for your offer, Kuchiki-san… older brother. Please, call me Neji.”

“Then you should call me Byakuya, little brother,” Kuchiki-san— _Byakuya-san_ —replies, and bows ever so slightly back.  
  


* * *

  
Neji finds Abarai-san exactly where he expects him to be—in the guest room the Hyuuga clan have given to him, tying a dark grey sash around his flowery white kimono. There’s still droplets of water sliding down his calves and seeping into the tatami mats, damp hair left to hang past his shoulders, and Neji swallows heavily at the sight. It’s not the first time he’s seen Abarai-san like this, but… it’s no less compelling as it had been the first time.

He’s not here to admire Abarai-san, though that’s always something Neji doesn’t mind doing. Kuchiki-san had told him that he’d leave for Tetsu within the week—they’d stayed for almost a year because of Abarai-san’s insistence on dragging Kuchiki-san into Neji’s kenjutsu lessons, he’d admitted with a wry little smile—so it’d be up to him to convince Abarai-san to stay with him.

Or, at the very least, ascertain his intentions—Neji’s never heard Abarai-san mention anything about staying or leaving, and he might very well be staying for other reasons.

(it’s a little selfish, but he hopes that one of those reasons might be _him_ )

“Captain Kuchiki?”

Neji starts, gaze snapping up to Abarai-san’s head, but his back is still turned to him. _He must think I’m Byakuya-san,_ Neji thinks, even as Abarai-san finishes fiddling with his sash and says, “I don’t want to hear anything more about staying in Konoha, alright? Your kid brother’s _good_ with the sword, and whatever crap you have to say about my _feelings_ or whatever is—”

There’s a moment when Abarai-san’s eyes almost bug out of his head, lips soundlessly opening and closing as he stares at Neji, but Neji takes a deep breath and asks, “What feelings?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Abarai-san mutters, but Neji can _see_ the tips of his ears turning red.

So instead of leaving, like he might’ve thought about doing earlier, Neji crosses the floor and moves to stand in front of Abarai-san. Up close, the droplets on his chest are several times more captivating than those on his legs—and with his damp hair just starting to spike up on his chest and around his face, it’s harder than it should be to keep his hands pressed against his sides.

“I think I should be worrying,” Neji says with a calmness he doesn’t feel, gaze boring into Abarai-san’s wide-eyed one. “I think you’re implying that you’ll be leaving, even though you’ve been teaching me your skills—”

“You have sword specialists in Konoha, right? Surely you could learn from them—”

“I want to learn from _you_.”

It is, perhaps, one of the most assertive things he’s ever said to Abarai-san—or perhaps to _anyone_ , beyond his immature obsession with fate—and Neji curls his hands into fists. “I thought you said you liked Konoha too,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.

“Yeah, but…”

Abarai-san sighs, carding a hand through his hair. “Look, you’re a good kid and Konoha’s really nice,” he eventually says, “but it’s not like the journey home’s going to be smooth. Rukia would _kill_ me if anything happened to Captain Kuchiki.”

 _And what about me?_ Neji wants to ask, but he grits his teeth against the question and says, “I’m not a _kid_.”

“You’re—”

“Nineteen,” Neji firmly says. “I was made a jounin—one of the shinobi elite,” he explains, when Abarai-san’s face goes blank, “when I was fifteen. For the past four years, Abarai-san, I have already been seen as an adult, and I achieved legal independence when I graduated from the Academy at the age of twelve.”

“Okay, but that’s how _your_ society works,” Abarai-san argues. “In Iron Country? You’re _barely_ an adult, and you’re still a teenager for another year!”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Neji asks—still calm-sounding, still feeling anything but calm. “Wouldn’t you feel more responsibility to your student if you didn’t think him mature enough?”

“But I don’t _want_ to see you as my student!”

Neji sucks in a breath at the outburst, eyes widening at the fierce look in Abarai-san’s eyes, and it takes everything in him to whisper, “Why?”

“It’s not—I don’t—”

He’s never seen Abarai-san more tongue-tied in his life, but Neji finds himself half-turning to stifle his laughter. Somehow, the sight of him without his usual composure and confidence, red-faced and spluttering and all too obvious in his feelings is… cute. It’s _cute_ , even more so than his love of taiyaki—but Abarai-san is adorable right now, and Neji finds it harder than ever to keep his hands to himself.

But when he goes to open his mouth and rescue Abarai-san from his self-dug pit, Neji only manages to eke out, “Then you want to see me as a—that is, Abarai-san, you…”

And somehow, the thought of telling Abarai-san that he _wants_ him—wants more than just kenjutsu lessons and brief but heartfelt smiles—is enough to make _him_ stutter too.

It’d look ridiculous to anyone who could see them now, two men unable to look each other in the eye or spit out a coherent sentence, and that’s probably what prompts Neji into helpless giggling. Abarai-san gives him a strange look for that—but they’re both doubled over and laughing soon enough, breaths coming out in undignified gasps and tears squeezed out from the corners of their eyes.

By the time Neji’s done, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and struggling upright, he feels far lighter and more certain than he did before. Perhaps it more euphoria-induced bravado than anything else… but Neji steps forward and looks into Abarai-san’s eyes, whispering, “If I may be so bold, Abarai-san—I like you, far more than a student should like their teacher.”

Abarai-san stills, staring down at him—but before Neji can cough awkwardly and step back, he finds Abarai-san’s hands hovering to frame his face and a low voice saying, “And here I was, wanting to do things _right_ for once.”

Neji doesn’t have time to ponder the strangeness of Abarai-san’s words, though, because there’s the faintest brush of heat against his cheek. “Can I?” Abarai-san breathes, eyes searching Neji’s as he licks his lips—

And it’s no hardship at all to breathe a _yes_ right back and lean up to seal their lips together.

He’s never kissed anyone before, and his inexperience must be painfully obvious to Abarai-san—he doesn’t know where to put his hands, doesn’t really know how to press their lips together without bumping their noses together, and he can _feel_ his face heating up. Abarai-san doesn’t seem to mind, though, if the way he tangles his hands inexpertly in Neji’s hair and clicks their teeth together a few times is anything to go by—but they manage, somehow.

He thinks he’ll get a crick in his neck if he continues like this. He _knows_ his family members would be scandalized, if they walked in and saw him kissing an Iron Country samurai—but Neji lets his fingers brush against Abarai-san’s neck and shoulders and back anyway.

 _Let them see,_ Neji thinks a little vindictively, sighing softly when Abarai-san presses a kiss to his lips and reluctantly pulls back. Abarai-san’s skin is rough and a little damp against his fingers—but Abarai-san’s fingers are cradling the back of his neck and the small of his back, and it’s… nice.

“I think this feels right enough,” Neji murmurs, tightening his arms around Abarai-san.

And Abarai-san is all too happy to show his agreement through fumbling kisses, brilliant smiles and curious, wandering hands.

But as nice as it is to exchange soft, hesitant kisses and map out the intriguing curves and edges that make up Abarai-san, though… Neji wants _more_. He _wants_ with a visceral need that almost unsettles him—but it makes sense, once he thinks about it.

They’ve been dancing around each other for the better part of a year, after all—and maybe it’s not the same for Abarai-san, but Neji’s always wanted to run his hands along Abarai-san’s tattoos.

“Can I?” Neji breathes against Abarai-san’s lips, his own ever so slightly swollen from all the kissing they’ve been doing so far.

He’d hoped Abarai-san would understand his intentions, but…

“Can you… what?” Abarai-san asks, hands loosely cupping Neji’s ass.

 _Touch you_ is the first thought that comes to mind, but he’s already doing that. _Give you pleasure,_ Neji thinks next, but even the _thought_ is enough to make him flush. He swallows heavily, gaze searching Abarai-san’s curiously open one, and draws in a deep breath before he murmurs, “Your tattoos.”

More blood rushes to his face at that—Abarai-san will probably find it weird, that he only specified his tattoos and nothing else—but he only frowns down at Neji for a few moments before he pulls back a little. _I’ve offended him somehow_ flashes through his mind, small and miserable—

But then Abarai-san’s disrobing, kimono whispering to pool on the floor, and he takes Neji’s hand in his own before pressing it to the ones on his chest—the ones Neji has only ever see flashes of, when Abarai-san shifts _just so_.

The tattoos are _everywhere_ —curling around his shoulders and creeping down his biceps, tucked beside his ribs in a way that suggests they sprawl across his back—and they’re stark against his skin. Perhaps someone else might call them ugly and stark, all bold black lines with very few soft edges or corners, but to Neji…

“Beautiful,” he whispers, fingers skating across lightly trembling skin. “You look amazing, Abarai-san.”

It’s Abarai-san’s turn to flush, at that, but Neji finds the colour… pleasing. He steps closer, flicks a glance to Abarai-san beneath lowered lashes—and presses his lips to a thick stroke high on his chest.

In an instant, Neji finds himself shoved against the floor, Abarai-san a little wild-eyed and flush even more visible on his face, but he’s not scared by the suddenness of his actions. Rather, it’s _arousing_ —to know that _he’s_ the one reducing Abarai-san to this with his words and looks and touches alone, and Neji arches his back just to see Abarai-san’s eyes darken.

If Neji had thought he could continue teasing Abarai-san, though, he’s sorely mistaken—one hand vices around his wrists, and the other splays itself against his stomach. “Beautiful?” Abarai-san growls, free hand trailing down to Neji’s loose pants and fumbling at the hem. “God, Neji—”

Fingers curl around Neji’s cock like a brand, and Neji hisses in a gasp at the hot, assertive touch.

“ _You’re_ the amazing one,” Abarai-san tells him, burying his face against the crook of Neji’s neck and panting against his skin.

It’s not loud enough to cover the slick sounds of his hand against Neji’s leaking cock, not when Neji’s all too aroused by the dark red hair spilling onto him and the evidence of Abarai-san’s own arousal against his thigh, but Neji hums throatily back and finally, _finally_ manages to eke out, “Let me touch you too.”

Abarai-san releases his hands instantly—almost _eagerly_ , as though he’d been waiting for Neji’s assent. His hands hover over Abarai-san’s ribs at first, trembling so much that Abarai-san laughs from how ticklish it is—but then he closes his hands around Abarai-san’s throbbing hardness and neither of them are laughing, after that.

Neji cums embarrassingly fast, with a moan Abarai-san barely manages to swallow when he clumsily presses their lips together. Only the fact that Abarai-san cums moments after him, shuddering against Neji from the force of his release, makes him feel just a little less embarrassed.

But even when Abarai-san slumps on top of him, heavy enough to force most of his breath out of his lungs—even when he weakly shoves at Abarai-san and he rolls off with a little huff—Neji hesitates only a moment before he twines their fingers together and whispers, “I hope we can do that again.”

“Maybe after another shower,” Abarai-san replies—and though he looks almost comically offended at Neji’s response, he can’t stop laughing at his teacher’s—his _lover’s_ oddly serious response.  
  


* * *

  
“Well, that’s all the paperwork sorted,” Hatake-san says, one hand coming up to rub at his forehead while the other pushes a single sheet of paper towards Neji. “Just sign on the dotted line,” he adds, tapping a finger on the place indicated, “and the position’s yours.

“You know that your Gai-sensei’s going to chew me out for this, right?” Hatake-san asks a few moments later, even as Neji leans forward to take a pen. “Even though you’re technically a jounin…”

“It won’t be forever,” Neji murmurs, signing his name in neat, elegant motions. “Byakuya-san would like to bring his sister to visit Konoha someday, and Ren—Abarai-san likes the climate here.”

“Maa, whatever works for you then.”

Hatake-san takes the form back, making it disappear somewhere with a flourish that Neji doesn’t quite catch—if he catches Neji’s slip-up, then he doesn’t notice it. There’s technically no shinobi of Iron Country, so it’s not even as though he’s defecting, but…

When Hatake-san slides the diplomatic treaty over, expression inscrutable behind his customary mask, Neji stands from his seat to take it with a bow.

“Get going before the delegation leaves you behind, Ambassador-san,” Hatake-san hums with a wave of his hand—

And Neji bows low once more, _Hokage-sama_ on his lips, before he slips out through the door—back to his older brother, his newfound lover, and the mountains that beckon him home.

**Author's Note:**

> For further author notes and other things related to this fic, feel free to check out my [blog](https://chiarosekuro.wordpress.com/). Alternately, potential prompts and other sorts of inspiration can be found on my [Tumblr](https://chroku-n.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chroku_n/) if that tickles your fancy instead - or, if you'd like your own shiny new oneshot, you can request one from me [here](https://chiarosekuro.wordpress.com/commissions/). If you'd rather chat with me and others who enjoy either my work or my company (or both) in a more private setting, though, you can also join my [multifandom Discord server](https://discord.gg/cQrS2bW).


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